


Musings of My Heart

by avosthyric



Category: Original Work
Genre: Poetry, Short
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 05:30:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avosthyric/pseuds/avosthyric
Summary: A collection of some short stories and poems I've written over the years. Includes both English and German texts.





	1. Eulenfedern

All die Augenblicke,  
als wir uns in die Augen blickten und verkannten,  
was uns schon so lang  
bekannt war.

All die Zeit,  
jedem von uns im Nacken sitzend und gleichzeitig  
so weit weg.  
Die Atemluft ist gefüllt mit trockenem Staub der an  
all die unausgesprochenen Worte erinnert. Eine Sahara aus Stille,  
ein Sturm aus Erinnerung.  
Wird jedes Mal weniger, wird jedes Mal größer.

Der Hund sitzt auf der Veranda und das Bellen  
bleibt ihm im Hals stecken. Lautstärke, noch lauter  
als sonst. Ich sehe dich und du siehst mich und doch so gar nicht.  
Der Blumentopf fällt und zerschmettert geräuschvoll auf dem Boden.  
Der Blütenstaub wagt in den Fingern zu zerrinnen und ist fort. 

Geschwind wie Licht, langsam wie die letzten Takte des Liebesliedes  
das du doch mal so liebtest, dir jetzt aber deine Ohren beschmutzt.  
Beschmutzt mit Dreck für die die teuerste Seife der Welt nicht so ganz weiß,  
wie man ihn wieder loswird.  
Auch Sonnen können weinen. Man muss nur nah genug schauen.  
Traurige Fröhlichkeit und fröhliche Traurigkeit Hand in Hand gehend in der Straße des Sturms.  
Regenbögen sieht man nicht wenn man die Augen schließt.  
Die Nacht bricht an.

Rot und schwarz und blau.  
Das Weiß verkannte sich selbst und der Farbtopf ist leer.  
Alte Reste tropfen vom Farbpinsel.  
So verkrustet bunt.


	2. Breathing

Through the woods where satan lies buried,  
in the earth of the world with wings wearing a red so dark   
oh it’s dripping with blood,  
I am willing to take my walk and risk feeling scars.  
The woods of the world with unicorns blue,  
with spiders white and rotten water pink.  
I’m about to take my fall  
with gratitude while standing up.

Hearing laughter  
with seducing voices, with reducing volume,   
creeping into your head with crippling legs on tiny feet.  
I’m about to find the road made out of gold,   
looking like diamonds, smelling like dust and   
set my feet on the path  
that is right for me.  
Seeing water so sharp it cuts right through skin,   
it’s so clean you might mistake it as heaven even though it’s filled with sin.

You can feel the blood pumping through his lungs   
while he sets his toes on the ground, to mark the ground as his property,   
marking kings as beggars, marking beggars as kings,   
in the kingdom of hypocrisy,   
where he himself is God.  
And with my vision turned clear and my anger made numb,   
My hunt, it has begun


	3. The Mouse and the Cat

And looking back, the cat found its mouse in safety.  
And looking back it was buried in the backyard.  
Not that cats and mice are friends. Oh, quite the contrary found itself to be lingering under the surface, or so it seemed.  
For the cat, truth was obtainable at night,  
for the mouse, all that mattered was safety. And a little cheese perhaps, then it was when it found itself to be living in glory and prosperity. You might be laughing at that now, but for our little mouse a little cheese was heaven.  
The cat didn't like cheese. Cheese was vile, for cats and dogs all the same.  
The cat, our cat, oh-so-elegantly moving, was friends with the moon and the stars' little beggar.  
With the wolves of daytime was it when the cat wished to be a mouse.  
The mouse's movie was the cat's daydream, and the cat's movie was the mouse's nightmare.  
During that time of the day where darkness would wake and change to the light of coated emptines, the cat felt a rather disgusting sense of familiarity with the routine of this event, which admittedly, found itself to be quite strange in its very nature.  
Its fur got uncomfortably hot and its blackness didn't seem to be all that helpful anymore.  
The smell of cheese found its way up to the cat's nose. The cat felt unsafe in its lightheadedness of the day's light. The cat felt drawn towards the sky, to crawl into those sheets of clouds, to be put to sleep by never-ending blue of both sky and water, for they expressed such strange unity.  
In fact even this cat, quite rarely to be found with its sense of honesty, was quite unaware of the world's workings.  
Blue was blue, red was red, and cheese was cheese.  
A particular combination of taste, smell, texture and colour would produce such a dreadful thing as cheese.  
Even to this day and age was it that cats weren't mice and mice weren't cats, even the big ones, where even the cat got scared and wasn't sure whether its senses were being truthful.  
Such a thing was happening yet again, on a day most unspectecular.  
Both of it showed how little the cat knew, which was as bothersome as it could get, for our little cat. The cat was in search of truth, while our mouse, it had the answer already.   
Because nothing it was that it knew, and yet all it knew it had to.  
The more you think the less you know. And since our cat didn't exactly know much, it didn't know that either.  
And as it followed the steps it believed to be the steps showing the way to the wonderful blue, the cat wondered where mice would be hiding when it was night and so it would believe itself to be king again for a few brief seconds. Such mysteries it was whose riddles it just could not solve, doubtlessly infuriating for a little cat such as ours.  
We must note that it is in fact the mice's nature to be afraid. Never would they adhere to the title of kings and queens of daylight if given to them. Rather scared they would be squeaking, only wishing to go back to safety again.  
But our cat wasn't quite aware of these things, just as it wasn't aware of many other things either.  
Truly there wasn't much the cat was sure of by this point, but frankly - did it believe mice to be kings and queens of daylight?  
Why yes, indeed it did.  
Jealousy it was that had driven our cat into such hatred, which it felt towards those most innocent of creatures that were these mice.  
Those most innocent of creatures that had never even wasted one thought about monarchy and kings and queens for that matter, let alone the fact they weren't even aware of those very things and their existence.  
Not that it mattered to them, as things you don't know of are only quite seldomly things you find yourself to be missing. Ignorance is bliss, which rang true for the ignorant as it did for those wanting to reobtain ignorance as their most secretly held wish.  
Aspiring a state of mind where ignorance ruled was a sin among the cats, and they looked up to those mice, the supposed rulers of daylight. They imagined the mice's realm to be a place where the word ignorance was so seldomly used, most of them weren't even aware of the word's meaning.  
The cats thought of the mice as creatures filled with eternal wisdom, and they hated them for that exact reason quite a bit.  
The Great Hunt took place every night, where cats tried hunting their worst enemies.  
It was an ancient tradition, but hardly ever did they succeed.  
Our black cat, too, was waiting for it to be night time again.  
So that it would be king again.  
It thought that maybe, if it catched one mouse this blessed night, the gates to the eternal blue would open.  
One day our cat did indeed find a mouse. And instead of killing, the cat forgot what the queen's name was.  
For her name, it invoked the most peculiar feelings of betrayal. Why, this mouse wasn't a scholar or godly king of the skies.  
It's society was built on complecancy and warmness, and with those weapons in hand, the cat's mind shattered.  
So it rebuilt, instead. Differently this time, too. With understanding in its heart and warm curiousity in its mind, it found the strangest of companions.  
The dreadfulness of pink seemed undoubtedly familiar and the beggar of stars turned into the sunlight's musician.  
And so it was.  
When night time came to an end, the cat was looking forward.  
And looking forward the cat found its mouse in safety.  
And looking forward it was buried in the backyard.   
For the cat knew now, that the castles built of sand deep beneath the earth were keeping the mouse safe, and it found solace in that, rather unexpectedly, at that.  
Not that cats and mice were friends, but companionship rang true even in the heart of the proudest of kings.


	4. Zahn des Tigers

Süßeste Ignoranz.   
O', ich vergess' mal nicht,  
dass aus tiefster Ecke nur die Tugend spricht.  
Sie zerrt an mir, und beschwert in mir,   
das höchste Gut welches ich zu tragen vermag.  
Ich beklage und verschlag die Güte in der Stille.  
Tragen, sagen ..., erfragen?

O', liebstes Herz der deinen, welch' Anspruch bedarf sich aus den tiefsten Höhen meines Geistes zu behaupten wissen.  
Ich erhabe mich der Antwort welche aus deinen tiefsten Ecken mit Kanten des Geheimnisses zerrissen wird und ertrage ihren Schmerz mit blutiger Inbrunst.

Welch' Aufopferung des Mutigen ich hier als Zeuge hatte erleben dürfen, es erschließt sich mir nicht in den dunkelsten der Nächten.  
Es wird Mysterium und wart Entschlüsselung gewesen sein, doch dessen Präsenz vernichtete ich mit dem Hauch eines Atemzuges.  
Der Drache in mir und die Maus in dir hatten den Abschluss vor langer Zeit abgesprochen, hatten in beschlossen.  
Doch weder der meinen noch der deinen war es wessen Fähigkeiten das Schloss zum bitteren Einsturz brachten.

O', wohl mehr war es das Gedicht der Schlange, so hinterlistig und verschlagen, der Manipulations größtem Diener, mit herzeskaltem Wimpernschlag und verzückender Kälte die es aus ihrem boshaften Herzen zu reißen galt,  
die unseren Untergang schon lang vorher hatte besiegeln lassen.  
So sag es mir nun, Ritter der ewigen Stärke, wessen Mitteln dürfen wir uns zu befehligen wissen um das besiegelte Ende in einen benebelten Anfang zu verwandeln?

Der deinen so wie der meinen.  
Der seinen so wie der ihren.  
In der Tagesstille beschlägt mein Herz das Verlangen.  
O', leb wohl mein wertvollster Schatz der Vernunft.  
Möge der Abenteurer der deinen mit den teuersten aller Habseligkeiten wiederkehren.


	5. So I Started Burning

My wings have grown so much lately, I nearly felt them flying away from me.  
I was taking my walk on the road made of gold, I was bruising from roses and bringing gifts to the gods.  
My future was coloured by your hope, so I hung it upon my wall for the craftsmen to see.  
The colours were changing every day, but the beauty never failed to be shaken with amazement.

If not for you, maybe it's for myself.  
And if it's for myself, isn't it meant to be perceived by your own eyes, too?  
My glasses seemed clearer than ever, my heart was jumping inside of my chest.  
It seemed like sincerity. It seemed like humidity was wearing its platinum crown.  
It was like glitter pouring from my chest.  
It was like my wooden eyes were traded for something more clearly constructed, like its contours were bent by the laws of nature.

It was like the stars fell from the sky.  
It was like the angels composed a lullabye to awaken the sweetness of your dreams.  
It was like with every line I drew the world around me seemed more valid.  
The blurrier the vision, the more sense it made to me.  
And as I retraced every footprint within reach, my findings burned themselves as ever-lasting initials onto my skin.


	6. A Short History of Time

miss the moment our hearts connected in minutes of infinity.  
We looked at each other like broken pieces of art.  
Always crumbling, always moving with the time’s knight on our back.  
He had held his sword like it was made of diamonds, made his diamonds shimmer like dust,  
Made the dust surround ourselves.

We were surrounded by birds of freedom, their wings carried each a part of our past and future, connecting in a way that made the present seem unbearable.   
It made our hearts flutter, made our dreams shatter, made us forget about the burden and darkness waiting to slice a puzzle in half in a way it was never intended to part.  
After completion was broken the left side was exposed to the sunshine’s glimmer just one second more than the right one.

Meanwhile his sword made our ways part, and with it left a sense of knowing forever unknown to me now.  
Ten moments later we looked in a mirror. And as we looked down into it, another part of us stared back. There was a bird flying above our souls, and as our paths met, the bird froze in time.  
And so did we.   
After a few heartbeats the bird was gone, and I was back to carefully counting our seconds.


	7. Splashes of Colour, Splashes of Heart

The many things I have done but not discussed.  
It's following a trail along my face, with glitter and stars in its way.  
Who am I, if my heart isn't understood by your madness?  
My footsteps set a path on pavement unknown, and the terror of my past are ever-following me. It couldn't have been more concrete if I had wanted it to.  
My walls are painted in grey and black, my memories are thrown onto them like a splash of unknown water. If you had told me it was connected to me I wouldn't have believed it.  
Ever-so-strangely is this world I live in, the more I try to make my footsteps matter the harder it is to reach a ground commonly beknownst by man.  
My hair is a silvery tangled mess, but I swear that's not who I am.  
Scattered bricks along the road, a raspy voice full of me but not of you, and a room full of heart but not of stone.  
I have tried to make sense of it before, but I couldn't do it even though I tried again and again and again.  
My heart is so close to my mind that I like to confuse one for the other.


	8. Vigor, Vitality

My heart beats to your tunes at night, the sweet melody of regret dancing beneath my fingertips.  
It seems so foreign, my vigor a tale forgone.  
I feel lost, like blood tainted on my lungs, a stench like gas and grime and broken eyes on broken glass.  
I can't quite get hold of the bridges built, no strings attached to my lifeline, and if there were, dying from old age, giving into temptation, into lust, into old age.  
My feet wander the same roads as yours, I feel the oxygen get a hold of my breath yet I can't quite place my hold on the ground.  
I shan't understand your blotches of pink, your flushed cheeks and see what keeps you alive, for you and I are not the same.  
If I didn't know any better I'd call for the stars to shine their wisdom upon my eyes, so that I can see the way you do, without glasses, without trial.   
My heart is beating ever faster, erratically out of line and I dance in its hope like I had never known.  
Surely you shan't ever know, the way my tie isn't befitting of my strings, although I can't seem to let go.  
I look to the same sky as you, and my love for it at all, quite quivers at the sight like an unborn child.  
An auxilary expression of flight is what shall carry me through the day, for you and I are not the same.  
I quite wish it were, and I hadn't given up just yet. My walls are the same as yours, yet more different they couldn't ever be.  
Where you're broad, I am too and yet not at all. The blood in my heart turns blue when yours doesn't and your orderly sheets drive me into chaos.  
I would rip them of their neatly made up lines, tear the meaning all over it, and slam it into your face so you could finally understand.  
I don't think in numbers, I don't think like your mind does, for you and I are not the same.  
Not the same.  
Not the same.  
Not the same.  
And I won't ever know how to live with it.


	9. An Excerpt from a Book I'll Never Write

"Hey, Archie?" "Yes, dearie?", the boy to the left answered playfully, maybe a little painfully.  
"Malice isn't your strong suit, I've heard. What'd you say to such people?", a frown started to dance on the boy's lips, icey blue with a slight tinge of sweetness. "You know Crow, I have never heard of such things. I have heard of your of your treacherous wings though, is that what you're actually asking me?" The crow's feathers seemed to carry their own strength, if possible. "My, my! Such malice! See, I know what you are trying to do! Every time your eyes see a new maid's woven hair, you seem to forget your innocence!"  
The boy named Archie, it seemed, stood up and held his hand to his heart.  
"If I were ever to forget about my innocence, which starts right up here and doesn't end until it has reached the very last muscles in my toes, I sure would know about it! How come you talk about my malice and innocence, as if they were alike, as if they were all the same to you, and as if you'd seen them with your very eyes, and don't ever talk about your treachery?  
What about the blackness that carries you off the ground? Isn't that reason enough for me to forgive myself?! The next thing I know you'll call me but a next-door's post man! My mind has seen things you have never even heard of!"  
The crow chirped, very much unlike itself, bowed its head and let its wings carry itself like a crown.  
"Isn't it your treachery we are looking at? Haven't you ever seen the properties of a mirror? If you had, you'd see what I understand and see that you can't lose yourself if you tried to! My, my, a flowerborn chalice isn't your mother's true name! Haven't you looked up to the sky lately?"  
"Well, what of it?", Archie asked. Seemingly annoyed, but with his feet steadily on the ground beneath him still.  
"See, I am unlike yourself, but you aren't. I wouldn't see the same properties you do, for I stand on this earth and you are the air's companion! How would I know of your nonsense if we aren't even alike?!"  
"And that's where your problem lies! I have asked, and you have answered! But not in a way that would make the air swift in honesty! See, you might see the mirror, how the glass was built, its form, even know the process by heart! But you don't understand its properties. How am I a victim of treachery if you could even paint a mirror's glass in blackness? You see, I know you think you know, but if your heart had touched the truth you'd speak of innocence and malice yourself!"  
Archie jumped in the air, and after a second, came back to common ground.  
"My, my, Crow, you cannot tell me I can't see a thing's thingness if even I can fly sometimes! See, I wear clothes every day, at the end of each one of them I am more familiar with what makes a piece of cloth and what doesn't. I might not see it with my mind but my eyes can understand and my skin can reconstruct it in ways you certainly can't." Again, the Crow let its feathers speak for itself.  
"So, are you saying that even though you have deemed the likeness of what I determine a thing's thingness unlikely, you still firmly believe determining a such thing's thingness is a matter you are able to undertake with your heart? If you followed that thought, how come you can't see a thing's truth as crisp and concise? I have yet to see you make a point about your malice and innocence that is unlike yourself. But if it isn't unlike yourself, how can you ever be sure? A common man can say the sky is blue and thus made of the ocean's properties. And altough not completely false it is certainly far from truth."  
"You have yet to prove yourself not to be treacherous by nature then, because what you deem true is only true within what you consider as truth, such is the nature of the mind's workings.", Crow chirped, a little more happily now, perhaps.   
"Now you are starting to understand! However, you must reconsider your weighting on things. It shall always be a battle of perspective, and considering all of them is but a mind's daily work. See, there is theorem and there is practicality and what is tried and true! Together, they shall serve to bring you closer to determining a thing's thingness, but you can't consider one perspective alone or one determined thing's thingness and deem it as truth.  
You must always see truth within every corn of the beach, but getting one bottle full of it doesn't necessarily bring you any closer to what you want to know."  
"But Crow ...", Archie said.  
"Yes, what is it, boy?", Crow croaked this time around, much more like himself than anything else. "But if you approach it that way, wouldn't it be an admission of guilt in the sense that you are not right, but wrong. I thought we were trying to get closer to the truth?"  
"My, my, yes, of course! But that is what it takes to get closer to truth!" Archie looked at him carefully.  
"How come you are so certain of your own innocence, then? You see, I have called you treacherous a lot today, and your retort was that you can't be, since I hadn't determined a thing's thingness, which is, by your own admission, your perspective. If both you and me aren't necesssarily right but also not wrong, maybe a treacherous trait is within you still, and I was somewhat correct all along."  
Crow looked at him again, nodded again and then said: "Why yes, that is true. Although you must consider that truth mustn't always lie in the middle. Perspective matters, but its analysis matters even more!", Archie looked puzzled.  
"But how are you ..., I mean ..., oh Crow! I am confused!", Crow croaked again, almost happily, it seemed.  
"That is the nature of things. If you want to, we could carry on another time."  
Archie looked at him, and eyed him carefully yet again. "Well, I suppose you could be correct about that. The sun is hidden behind blue fog this day's night around, although a very lacking comparision, I must say I do feel the same."  
"Yes, that is but the nature of things."  
As Archie looked closely enough, he could see malice shining through from within the Crow's heartstrings, as it started flying away from his footsteps. 'It shan't be be discussed this time around', Archie told himself, and went away.


	10. Beneath It All

Beneath it all, I'm just afraid.  
I have built intricate castles of pretense and pleasantness and intellect, but what am I without it?  
I fear I am nothing.  
Thinking is all I do. Cataloguing is all I'm capable of. My emotions are carefully filed away starting from A to Z, they're numbered from most favored to least, most acceptable to most scandalous, and to show sincerity? I rightly doubt I'm even capable.  
"Don't walk like that, strout like this instead."  
"This pattern of clothing is most unbecoming, why, take this one instead!"  
"Oh, you want to be like HIM? Ha, well, sweetie, you just keep on dreaming!"  
What am I, if I scrape away all the dust of doubt,  
if I wash away the sin,  
for I fear I am nothing underneath,  
and the emptiness is even worse than my pretense.  
I have understood you, I have analysed you, and I still don't understand how you work.  
My words, my smiles, my laughs, they are nothing more than buttons within my system that I press, they're not genuine, but without them I am lost.  
It has been instilled in me that my reality is unacceptable, so instead I've started to shave off the sharp edges until calculated masks and shallow feelings are all that remain.  
I might seem composed and secure, but beneath it all,  
why, I'm terrified.  
I don't understand how I would work without it, mind, the Fear,  
It's all I know.  
It has cradled me in its arms and made me the man I am.  
Without it, I wouldn't be the man you know.  
Without it, I wouldn't know if you'd even like me anymore.  
And beneath it all, it's what I'm scared of the most.


End file.
